Recently, as I sat nursing Summer, I read a blog post from last year at this time. It related the happenings of a busy, husbandless Sunday – one full of meetings, juggling, and readying – that somehow still ended right: books read, cookies made, sunset walks taken.
Reading that post left me with a dull and quiet little sense of longing. Not for the day itself exactly, more . . . for the quite moment I'd somehow found, despite the busyness, to record the day. I must have found it – that quiet, peaceful moment -- because, there that blog post sat: a little, perfect peek into my life, our life. It captured a day that, otherwise, would surely have been sucked into a mixing bowl. It would have swirled around and around with the thousands of days before and the thousands of days after until its individual ingredients could no longer be tasted. It would have made up a part of the wonderful whole, sure, but how much lovelier to have that day exist -- to be able to pick it out of the mix and examine it – separately and clearly.
I'm certainly not trying to play the “who's busiest” game (a game I find rather tiresome to be honest). I have much less on my plate and much less on my typical daily “to-do” list than so many of you. I know that. It's just that I love writing. I love finding completely free spaces of time to churn happenings and thoughts over and about in my mind. I love to watch how they spill out and then come together on paper or a screen; and, as I remembered finding that moment for that Sunday post of long ago, a small sigh escaped me, and I felt a bit wistful for more of those moments right now.
And not just moments for writing; I wanted completely free stretches of time to fill . . . however I wanted, doing whatever I wanted, even . . . doing whatever I needed.
Those stretches of time seem rather hard to come by just now. And, I know it’s all right. I know I’ll have phases of life where my time is much more likely to be sitting there – patiently and expectantly -- waiting for me to make what I will of it. I also know that, even without those entire phases, those moments won’t ever be complete strangers. I’ll find minutes here and there in bits and pieces to write, or read, or run, or organize, or learn, or ponder. And I’ll get along. Those bits and pieces will be enough – as much as I long for an increase in their frequency and duration.
And, I suppose I also know that the bigger things in all of this living business are still happening. If I never get several days to learn new photo editing software, and I never run another marathon, and I never get our photo albums caught up, and I don’t read three-quarters of the books on my “to be read” list; it won’t matter much -- if the majority of my moments are filled . . . well . . . I guess . . . pretty much as they are.